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Every visit to the PorongurupsIs like my first visitAs if I’ve never been here beforeOther than generations agoThe winds of time steadyIn the tree topsThe moon rising full in the eastThe planks on the decking still missingMaking loveuntil Joy falls into such a deep slumberI’d think her deadBut for the snoringAll consistent with our long late driveDown the very highwayOn which her father diedHis body identified at the morgueHis shoes still standing in the closetHis children filling them as best they canHis vision seen out the cabin windowsGreen and eternalAnd on walls partially spackledand needing paintWhen into the silent sacred morningWe hike the Devil’s SlidePreserving his memory and our memoryFostering the sacredLoving one another.Even more.